


Take A Breath

by Jeanielynn



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), POV Asra, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanielynn/pseuds/Jeanielynn
Summary: He leans in and kiss her again. Her lips are just as soft as he remembers, just as soft as in his dreams, fueled by every stolen stare when she was too preoccupied to notice his eyes trailing her features. When they meet in another heated kiss, there is a tang of something that wasn’t there before. Something almost metallic. He feels like he should know what it is. He probably does know, if he’d only take a moment to really think about it.He doesn’t think about it.
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Kudos: 21





	1. Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my personal head canon, which can be summarised as "imagine Asra's route, but the apprentice refuse to run away to Nopal. Asra gets uncharacteristically upset because bad flashbacks to this exact damn thing happening during the plague, they fight, and they only start to reconcile right before Asra is arrested".  
> Which isn't apparent in this chapter, but anyway, now you know.

He can barely breathe as she leans in, bright-eyed and beautiful, and kiss him.

Just the barest whisper of a touch, her lips against his, but it is all the incentive he needs. In half a heartbeat he surges forward, wrapping his arms around her, pressing close, so close he can feel the beat of her heart against his chest when he holds her. She follows, snaking her arms around him, carding her hands through his snowy curls.

And he kisses her, again and again and again, as if he aims to make up for four years in a single day alone. His body is screaming for air and he refuse to obey, keeping his lips to hers as if he’d rather drown in her than be separated for even a moment. He would, if she asked him. He might even if she doesn’t.

When his sense of survival overpowers his desire he leans back just enough to look at her, gasping for air. She doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, smiling back in coy serenity, one hand trailing along his jugular until it finds perch against his collarbone, toying idly with the collar of his shirt. Every time her fingers brush against his skin he shivers in anticipation, trying through sheer force of will to make his lungs to work faster even as the touch makes his breathing grow shallow.

He locks eyes with her. In the soft haze of the morning light filtering through the curtains, they look black and hard as onyx.

He shivers again.

A small voice in the back of his head whisper of bad omens, and he pushes it aside. Bad? This is everything he wants. He’s been waiting for years, and finally, _finally_ she’s here, in his arms and _nothing_ can ever make him let go again.

He leans in and kiss her again. Her lips are just as soft as he remembers, just as soft as in his dreams, fueled by every stolen stare when she was too preoccupied to notice his eyes trailing her features. When they meet in another heated kiss, there is a tang of something that wasn’t there before. Something almost metallic. He feels like he should know what it is. He probably does know, if he’d only take a moment to really think about it.

He doesn’t think about it.

She weaves her fingers together at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still, never taking a moment to pause. His hands fall from the waist to trail along her thighs, mapping the shape of her curves through the thin linen of her dress. She is straddling him, pinning him in place with her own body. How did he not notice that before now? His fingers slide over her smooth skin all the way down to her knees, then up again, until they find the hem of her skirt and pass under.

Why does she feel so cold?

Is she alright? Did he do something wrong? Even her lips against his, still relentless in their hunger, feel cold now. The hands at his neck hold him firm, vice-like and clammy. Her thumbs stroke down the sides of his spine and he can feel nails against his skin. She is crowding into his space, her presence demanding that nothing else share his attention. His lungs scream for another breath, but she makes no move to break free and it breaks his heart to push her away.

But he must, and she allows him, though reluctantly. When he leans back panting, something dark has crept into the edges of his periphery. Lack of oxygen, probably. Not her fault. Nothing is her fault. He closes his eyes for just a moment, savoring the feeling of her body in his lap, the comforting weight against his thighs. He can’t hear her at all over his own frantic heartbeat, but it doesn’t matter, not as long as he can feel her against him. She’s here and she’s with him. They’re together.

The thought makes him smile even wider, but the expression dies on his lips when he opens his eyes and finds her scanning his features with something almost detached. Her eyes betray nothing, fathomless and utterly unreadable, and her face has a look of neutrality bordering on being completely blank. A void where something else should be. Just for a moment, before she heaves a heavy sigh and hangs her head, obscuring it behind a mess of honey-colored tresses.

“Are you… is something wrong? Are you okay?”

He’s still panting, his heart racing. The sound of it seems so loud as to echo in the room, drowning out everything else. He thinks she answered, almost certain he caught a hint of movement behind the veil of hair, but he didn’t hear a word of what she said. That ever-present ember of self-hate flicker in his chest again, nourished by yet another failure. Why? Why can’t he ever do right by her? Why must he always fall short when she needs something from him?

“Love, I…” He reaches up and gently stroke her cheek, pushing the hair aside, but freeze as his fingers trail through something wet. She’s crying!

Frantic apologies spill over his lips as his hands shoot up in an instant, cupping her cheeks, gently coaxing her to look at him again. She tries to draw back, to hide, wrapping her arms around herself as if to keep the cold out… It’s not cold here, though, is it? He can almost feel the heat of a fire, somewhere close. The air smells like ash and smoke. It doesn’t matter. He won’t let her hide, and eventually, she relents. He wishes she didn’t.

Red. Stark beneath her ashen skin, veining over her hollowed cheeks. Her eyes are lifeless, iris like onyx and sclera of livid crimson. Her body shakes feebly with a sudden fit of coughing. She covers her mouth with her hands, but he doesn’t need to see it to know she’s coughing blood. He can hear it in her labored breathing.

He gathers her in another hug, as gently as he can, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. When she coughs again he only strokes her back, murmuring softly, a never-ending litany of apologies and regret. She never answers. Her breathing grows shallower with each fit, and soon she isn’t breathing at all. Ash drift through the open window, so heavy it is blotting out the sun. He lays her body, now impossibly light, on the bed. Smoothing the hair from her bloodied face and pressing a kiss to her brow, he curls up beside her and hold her close.

Nothing can ever make him let go again.


	2. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can barely breathe. Probably because his treacherous heart is firmly lodged in his throat. Half a heart shouldn’t feel this heavy. He tries to swallow and almost chokes instead, praying she didn’t notice and knowing she probably did. He could feel himself slipping. He had been for days, so desperate to make sure he didn’t lose her completely that he could barely summon the self-control to keep his distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still set in the same head canon as chapter 1, but this one happens sorta during that "I'll go back to the shop with you" paid option.

He can barely breathe. Probably because his treacherous heart is firmly lodged in his throat. Half a heart shouldn’t feel this heavy. He tries to swallow and almost chokes instead, praying she didn’t notice and knowing she probably did. He could feel himself slipping. He had been for days, so desperate to make sure he didn’t lose her completely that he could barely summon the self-control to keep his distance.

But he couldn’t stop himself. He was soaring on the high of every touch, every glance she threw his way. He was Icarus, begging to be burnt just to feel the warmth of her radiance.

He’d held her hand, hugged her, tucked the wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Even kissed her once, just barely touched his lips to her cheekbone in a way he prayed had seemed platonic. And she had allowed it all, with that sunshine smile of hers. She was happy, and she was _here_. It should be enough for him. It had to be enough. He had no right to ask for more.

He still wanted more, though.

Shivers run through him when her fingers brush against his bare chest yet again, still fumbling with the clasp and chains. He tries to hide the movement behind a roll of his shoulders and a futile attempt to hitch the cloak higher and give more slack to the chains holding it, with dubious success. It almost seems to work though, engrossed as she is in the task at hand. He tries to follow what she was doing, but his eyes keep going to her face, halfway hidden behind a veil of honeyed tresses.

Her brows are furrowed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she chewed it contemplatively, the obvious tell that she was deep in thought. She’d been doing it since forever, and once, in another life, he would have taken it as an opportunity to kiss her silly, not stopping until she released her lips from their enameled prison and surrendered them to him instead.

Once. Back when everything had been different and she would have welcomed it.

“Your heart’s racing,” she stated softly, and every thought he had ran for cover, leaving his mind barren. Her eyes flicked up and caught his, a glittering amber gaze that shot through him like an arrow. Probably why his thoughts had fled in the first place. Traitors, just like his heart.

But she was right. The maimed remains of his heart hammered against his ribs like a frenzied beast beating the bars of its cage. As if it was frantically trying to break free and leap into her chest to rejoin its other half, as if all he’d need to do was open himself up and let it be free and unfettered, and it would be whole again.

As if it could possibly be that easy.

This time, she needs no word to break his musings. She slips her hand beneath the hoop and chains, resting her fingertips oh so lightly right over his breastbone. Without ever breaking eye contact she let her fingers slide apart, slowly, skating over his bare skin until her palm was pressed fully against him.

“It’s getting faster,” she said, with a smile that seemed both kind and coy.

She was watching his reaction, he realized, with something questioning in her eyes. Truth be told, he had no answer to offer; Not one of his own choice, anyhow. His mind observes quietly from behind snowy lashes and lavender eyes as his body betrays everything he had worked to hide. He leans into her touch, holding his breath, hopeful and longing and so desperately fearful of what may come.

The first touch of her lips against his is feather-light, chaste almost to the point of being innocent, immediately pulling back to watch him through fluttering lashes. He doesn’t think. The cape fall back heavily on his shoulders as it slips through his fingers, the chains tightening over her hand and tethering it to his chest as his arms capture the rest of her. There is no pretense of innocence or chastity in the kiss that follows, and he has already resigned himself to suffer through the dream-turned-nightmare once more, just for those few stolen moments that soothes his aching heart even as they poison his mind.

He can feel her unfettered hand move around him, fingers trailing along his hips until they reach the small of his back and pull them both closer together. Her hand feels warm even through the costume. He follows suit, clutching his hands at her back, grabbing so tightly at the soft fabric of her dress that his hands ball into fists.

Far too soon he needs to catch his breath, fighting the impulse with all his might. Maybe if he never succumbs to it, this moment will never end, and he never have to see her in pain again. Maybe they’ll stay here forever, until time itself runs out and the world falls away into nothingness. Maybe then he will have her back, safe and sound and secure, never ever to leave again.

He will never know. She breaks away before he does, breathing heavily and cheeks flushed rosy. She blesses him with a bright smile before she leans in to hide her face in the crook of his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. Her hot breath sends shivers down his spine as it rolls over his skin. He can feel her softly press another kiss to his neck, letting her lips linger on his skin.

No, wait. This isn’t how it goes. Why did she break the kiss? She is never the first to break the kiss! It’s always him, his failing, he who leaves and –

He needs to see her face. _Now_.

Fear runs through his veins like shards of ice, so sharp he is almost afraid they’ll cut her lips still resting over the pulse point on his neck. One hand shot up to cradle her head, coax her from his shoulder. He steps back, over-hasty, trying to twist himself to look at her. Numb beneath the raging current of his own emotions he’s lost track of their surroundings, of which he is rudely reminded when his calf hit the bedframe and he tumbles backwards. Her hand is still chained to him, restraints pulled taut from the sheer weight of that damn fur cape, and she is forced to follow where he leads. Down they go, tumbling like drunkards into the gutter.

The world has enough mercy to see him land on his back in a nest of pillows, and he feel the mattress sway under him as she follows just a moment after, face-first into the plush bed right beside him. If she managed to maneuver enough mid-fall to miss him, he doesn’t know. Maybe she was simply pulled off-balance, unceremoniously yanked as she was.

This _really_ isn’t how it goes.

For a mind-shatteringly confusing moment he stays where he fell, still and silent, as his mind races to catch up. One of his arms is pinned between the bed and her body, and the slight tremor reverberating through her ribs shocks him back to the present. He pulls her close, but with one arm pinned and her hand still caught, he can’t detangle himself from her. Her face is still veiled in tangled tresses, still hidden from him. Images of tears and trails of blood fill his mind, and yet he still fails to right himself.

In another unexpected show of mercy from a universe that has never shown him great benevolence before, she soon puts an end to his misery. He sinks into the mattress as she puts more weight on the hand still chained to his bare chest, gentle but firm, and finally hoist herself up to rest on her free elbow. No longer smothered in pillows, he can put a sound to the gentle shaking in her chest.

She’s… not crying?

He reaches over to smooth the hair from her face. When his fingers brush against her hair she leans into the touch, but stills herself as he tries to tuck the hair behind her ears. The action is only moderately successful, but it is enough. She’s smiling, giggling even, still amber-eyed and honey-haired and full of life. When her eyes find his, the shaking stop with the giggling. A furrow finds its way between her brows as she looks him over.

“Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t know. This isn’t how it goes.

Without answering he tries to guide her closer, and she doesn’t pull away, instead leaning down over him. His hand trail through her hair down her neck, the skin still warm. When he kisses her again, she taste like tea and honey, with no trace of the acrid tang of his dreams.

He takes a moment, thinking, touching, trying to gather what little wits remains to him. Pressing his forehead to hers, he even closes his eyes, breathing deeply. His hand finds her face again, mapping the contour of her cheekbone with his thumb and finding no trace of tears. He listens for her breathing, her heartbeat, finding both.

“Asra?”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, locking eyes with her again. In the gentle light of the room they look like the last embers in a comforting hearth, soft and warm and full of something he hasn’t seen in years. “Lost my focus, is all. Everything… everything’s perfect.”

“Because of me?” she asks without specifying which statement it regards.

“Yeah,” he replies, as an answer to both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sold my soul to the Devil for this game. Jokes on him, it ain't worth shit.  
> Sometimes I pretend like I can actually write, and once in a blue moon it might turn out decent enough to post here. I'd love some feedback or comments to fuel that delusion, pretty please!
> 
> Check out my other Arcana thing over on Tumblr, the [Prologue Preservation Project!](https://yaaqu3.tumblr.com/)


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